


Whumptober 2019 - 18 - Muffled Scream

by OllieCollie



Series: Whumptober 2019 [18]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Muffled scream, POW Camp, Pre-Series, Torture, Whump, poor Magnum and friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 22:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21089072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieCollie/pseuds/OllieCollie
Summary: The problem was, just because Magnum was currently still too valuable to kill didn't mean he was immune to any attempts to injure or maim. In fact, the enemy soldiers got a great kick out of torturing him.





	Whumptober 2019 - 18 - Muffled Scream

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Magnum. I seem to enjoy whumping him a little too much. He must be showered with all the fluff after everything I put him through. XD
> 
> (P.S. I am barely surviving Whumptober at this point, so please say a prayer for me if you think about it ;P)
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been four whole weeks.

Magnum had a deep respect for anybody who had put up with this sort of abuse and torture for months—or even years—because he didn't know how they handled it for such a long stretch of time. 

Some days, it was only because he knew he had his friends with him that he fought to keep going. It was hard, even for a well-seasoned soldier like Magnum.

He knew that his captors probably wouldn't kill him—not yet, anyway. He still had too much potential information, secrets they wanted. No, they wanted to work him over, to slowly break him. And they'd been having great fun doing it. He knew his snarky comments and smirks didn't exactly help things, but he liked that it annoyed them. Sometimes it was worth the foot to his ribs or blow across the face. He wasn't going to let them win.

The problem was, just because he was currently still too valuable to kill didn't mean he was immune to any attempts to injure or maim. In fact, the enemy soldiers got a great kick out of torturing him.

He gritted his teeth against the gag that had just been firmly secured around his mouth—nearly choking him, he might add. The smirks from the two men who were currently interrogating him didn't ease any of his uncertainty about what they had planned.

One of them commanded something to him in Pashto. He knew enough of the foreign language to make out something along the lines of, "Last chance. Tell us." From that, the rest of the sentence was fairly decipherable. He almost laughed. He couldn't exactly speak with the way he was trussed up. Not like it mattered; he had nothing to say to them, anyway. He jerked his head to the side, giving a firm and clear indicator of his answer.

The grin dropped from the man's face. "Very well," he said in broken English. "Your choice. But you will talk soon."

He nodded to his companion, and Magnum felt his heart drop at the hot iron rod the man produced.

* * *

The muffled scream was too familiar of a sound, and it caused three of the prisoners to wince. Like the others around them, they'd mostly learned to ignore it by now, knowing there was nothing they could do about whatever was going on in the Torture Room. But it was next to impossible to not think about it when the current occupant of said room was their best friend.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the muffled cries of pain coming from the other room. He'd been dragged in there a few times himself, and it was never pretty. However, the guards had taken a shine to Thomas, and he was by far their favorite to play with and interrogate.

On the other side of him, T.C. sat, elbows resting on his knees, growling angrily under his breath about their whole situation.

Nuzo had his lips pressed together, his fists clenched, as if he wanted to tear down the door and go grab their friend and get out of there. Rick could relate. He wanted to do something, anything. He wanted to see Thomas and make sure that he was okay. He wanted them to stop hurting his friends. This place was hell.

* * *

Thomas gasped for breath around his gag—and remained fairly unsuccessful. His chest and arms cried out in pain, the burning sensation lasted even after the hot metal was removed from the bare skin. He grunted when the leader of the two men stepped forward and grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze upward. The man mentioned something in Pashto about how he "could do this all night," but Magnum didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. He was rewarded with a backhand across the face that sent the chair he was tied to toppling backward. Thomas hit the ground with a crash and a pained yelp. Spots exploded in his vision, and he fought to stay conscious, to be aware and prepared for whatever was coming next.

Burning metal pressed against his skin again; his scream was slightly muffled by the gag. He was almost grateful—he hated anyone seeing—or hearing, in this case—him so weak—but it also meant he couldn't breathe well. 

His head fell limply to the side. He just didn't have the energy anymore. They'd been at this for several hours now, and he was sure his face was multiple shades of color from the bruises and cuts. One eye was definitely swollen shut, and although he hadn't gotten a good look at the welts from the hot iron, he was sure they weren't going to be a pretty sight.

The man let out a snort of disgust. He exchanged words with his companion before Magnum felt the ropes that held him to the chair being ripped away—none-too-gently. He bit back a pained moan as someone dragged him across the room. He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, he was being thrown back into the cramped cage that now served as his home. Silence reigned for a moment, until the slamming of a door set the world back into motion.

"Thomas! Tommy!" a whispered hiss invaded his pounding head that was drifting him off to oblivion. Someone's hands were on him, much gentler than the ones that had manhandled him just minutes ago. The gag was pulled away from his mouth, and he coughed hard, struggling to gasp in air.

"Shh. We got you, brother." He wasn't sure who the voice belonged to, but he trusted it nonetheless. His head was shifted to rest on a softer surface—somebody's lap, maybe. He heard murmurs and angry exclamations as fingers traced over the burn marks littering his body and tried not to yowl in pain. Man, did it hurt.

But it was over—for now. While Thomas had a feeling that this was just the beginning, right now he was with his friends. And that was all he needed.


End file.
